


What is left Behind

by Vevici



Series: On the Warden-Commander Vie Mahariel [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 04:17:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5694436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vevici/pseuds/Vevici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On their way to Lothering, Alistair gets a moment to talk with his fellow Warden. Alistair discovers he has much in common with Mahariel than he would ever expect. Perhaps this is the foundation for a partnership between the two remaining Wardens in Ferelden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What is left Behind

Ferelden’s only hope has disappeared from camp. Again.

               As was Morrigan’s routine in the past few days, she merely shook her head in disapproval, rolled her eyes, then sashayed her way to the niche she carved out for herself. Alistair was all too happy to let her, content in the long chore of cleaning the aftermath of their dinner, which by a miracle wasn’t bland. There was a hint of salt there, in the soup.

               It has been only five days since Ostagar. Five days since…Maker’s breath. Will it ever get easy? Going on from their luck, Alistair supposed that no; it will not in fact be easier in the next few days. Nor the next few months, or the next…well, two decades, at least.

                Damn it all. If Flemeth had the chance to save anyone, then it should been Duncan and the King; not- No, that was not right.

                A nip at his fingers made Alistair gasp and drop the last bowl, which the mabari pounced on to sniff and lick at. “I told you not to do that,” he half-chastised-half cooed at the dog sidled against his leg, all the while wrestling the utensil from his maw. Barksp- No, Anvil. Anvil was the name Mahariel had given him. Anvil pressed his head against Alistair’s hip, rubbing his coat against the cross guard of his sword. With a sigh, Alistair knelt and gave the mabari a good rub on his belly.

                “Cute and deadly,” Alistair said. He rinsed the last bowl again then chucked in into its pack; tying it tight enough to get it out of the dog’s reach.

                He gave a few last pats to Anvil’s hearty flanks before following Mahariel. Since the first night after leaving Flemeth’s house, she had made a habit of walking around the borders of camp after dinner - much to his concern and Morrigan’s discomfort. First two times the mage had tried to convince Mahariel to stay in the light lest something happened to her, but the latter just thanked her for the concern and promised not to stray far. That managed to purse Morrigan’s lips like a prune on both times. Oh, how Alistair wished he could’ve held a mirror to her face then!

               Still, joking aside, the witch had a point. They can’t afford to lose Mahariel. Alistair glanced at the second fire – because of course Morrigan chose to sleep away from them like they had a plague. All Alistair could see of the witch’s own mini-camp was her pack thrown open next to the fire, and the dark spiky hair poking out from the bush she used to block the rest of the world with.

               “Right, then. Keep an eye out for a bit, Anvil.”

               The mabari barked an affirmative. Alistair headed to the slight parting of trees just behind Mahariel’s own tent. Snagging branches and snapping twigs as he did, Alistair imagined every predator in the forest knew where he was. He will never find out how Mahariel had made it looked so easy. Weaving and ducking and skipping. She was at home in the forest.

               A pang in his chest almost made Alistair turn back. Duncan…Maker _._ Duncan had told him about the promising new recruit in a short message Alistair had received just two days before the Warden-Commander himself returned to Ostagar. The actual note was lost during the battle, but Alistair remembered the words written in it.

               “ _Mahariel. An experienced fighter and a natural hunter. Like you were during your Joining, she has endless questions. I might have revealed more than I realized. She has the taint for almost a week now, and she still manages to hit a rabbit right through the eye. Pale and coughing, but her veins have not gone dark. Their lifestyle had trained her well._

_“She brought ink and a journal with her; she draws when the fever keeps her from sleep. I fear that soon, I’ll have to take that leisure away from her too. We are close. Start preparing the other recruits. Maker watch over their Joining.”_

                Alistair could just imagine Duncan worrying at his beard as he monitored his new ward, he can imagine the crease in his brow at the heavy price his new recruit might pay. He was fond of her, as he was of all young Wardens. But the deep groves his pen had etched on the paper told Alistair that Mahariel’s recruitment was one he regretted deeply. Since then Alistair had wrung the hem of his tunic as he counted the days until he could meet this Mahariel. Imagine his chagrin when he realized he’d spouted some wisecracks to her on their first meeting.

                Alistair resisted the urge to slap himself on the forehead – the branches were doing most of that already anyway. But Maker he felt like a fool. Sure, he allowed people to think of him as only a joke. Not to someone who Duncan regards highly though. It was only by some miracle – possibly Dalish magic – that Mahariel had not written him off automatically. No, despite the Blight raging under her skin, she just smiled – closed lipped and brief - and said, “I look forward to travelling with you.” It was then that Alistair decided to see her through the Joining.

                It took a good ten minutes before Alistair managed to untangle his legs from roots and vines, and stumbled into a clearing. The full moon was at its peak, turning the grass silvery as they swayed with the breeze. In the distance, the Brecilian Forest slept, silent and untouched by moonlight. From the east, Alistair caught the rush of the river, rather loud and brash in the night. He made his way toward the sound. From what Alistair remembered during their hike up the hill, there was an outcropping that overlooked where the river accelerated as it readied to be emptied into a lake; a secluded area where one might shrug off the demands of the world.

                Alistair slowed his steps as he neared the cliff. On the largest boulder, Mahariel looked out into space, back straight, leaned forward. Another step closer revealed that she had her left arm outstretched, fist clenched. There was a glint of silver. An amulet. The pendant pulsed in silver light as it turned and turned. Alistair didn’t dare to move.

                Was he intruding? Was he presumptuous in thinking that maybe, this time, he could offer his fellow Warden some consolation?

                A gust of wind lifted Mahariel’s dark hair off her shoulders, spun the amulet into a tighter spin, and as the wind reached Alistair, delivered a sigh to his ears. He stepped forward. He made his approach as loud as possible over the roar of the water below; he dragged his feet through the grass and kicked loose stones right off the cliff. It was only after he settled next to Mahariel that the latter turned to him.

                It was her eyes that always undid him. If they glowed before the camp fire, they dazzled under the moonlight - quick bursts of light with each tilt of the head and flutter of the eyes. How such wonder could be treated as sinister and savage, Alistair would never understand.

                “It belonged to my father,” Mahariel began. She turned back to the amulet, squinting at it, before she offered it to Alistair. She settled the trinket into Alistair’s cupped hands. “Ironic how just when I’m learning about my parents, I had to leave the family I know.”

                “The Maker is fond of irony, or so I heard,” Alistair murmured as he turned the pendant around. It was barely longer nor thicker than his thumb, yet it was weighty. On both faces, soft lines forming the figure of a horned animal were engraved.

                “So do the Creators, it seems.”

                Alistair’s head snapped up. An apology already forming in his lips, only to be cut off by the shake of Mahariel’s head.

                With a deep breath, she gazed up at the moon. “I grew up believing that they died together, when I was too young to even remember their faces. I knew my father was our previous Keeper; but I did not know he was killed by bandits - humans and city elves.”

                Mahariel closed her eyes. Unmoving and silent, she resembled the cold busts he once saw at the Denerim Palace; cold, uncaring, lifeless.  Alistair burned to shake Mahariel into action.

                Instead, he said, “And your mother?”

                “She was injured in that same ambush, but she lived. She birthed me, and soon after she disappeared into the night, leaving only a trinket.”

                Alistair’s fingers curled around the amulet. The way she said it, so matter-of-factly, caved his chest. “Do you resent her?”

                He said the question as innocently as possible, but Mahariel must have caught something in his voice for her eyes snapped open and fell on him. He held her gaze, only the river and wind stirring the night. Alistair didn’t know what she was looking for; but he hid nothing from her.

                “I know why she did it; she was lonely. She lost her love.” Mahariel shook her head, eyebrows knit in a frown. “But I don’t understand how she could just abandon me. How could she cast aside her child? His child? It was her duty to raise me. She could have at least waited until I could wipe my own -” She ran her nails on her scalp, groaning away her frustration.

  Maker’s breath. How can he make this better? He had asked similar questions himself and they remain largely unanswered to this day. Alistair’s thumb traced along the etched amulet, a frown forming at his brow.

                “You wanted to throw this away.”

                Mahariel froze. Her forearm hid her face from Alistair’s view, but there was no mistaking the slump of her shoulders. Alistair waited as Mahariel smoothed her hair again, hooked it behind her ear. He couldn't look at the defeated smile on her face.

                “Seems like I’m not spiteful enough to go through with it.”

                Alistair was on his knees at once. He jerked his chin at Mahariel. “Here. Lift your hair for a moment.”

                She raised an eyebrow even as she gathered her fine tresses, swirling it into a bun. Alistair set the amulet against her throat, just below the red jewel that reminded her of her oath and sacrifice. It took two attempts for his trembling fingers to fasten the clasp.

                “You know,” he said, tugging at the chain to ensure that the lock was in place, “you’re lucky that you lack spite. Spite only leads to broken things, regret, a burnt bread, and a nug the size of a dog following you around.”

                Mahariel still had a hand supporting her bun as she turned her torso around to face him, and Alistair had the honour to see both amulets, red and silver, glimmer against her collarbone. He shot to his feet, pretending to stretch his legs.

                “A bread, and a nug?” she asked after a beat. "All together at once?"

                There was amusement there in her voice, but Alistair didn’t dare look at her yet. “Oh, they’re not related at all. Separate incidents.”

                She chuckled. Alistair had to look up then. She was fully facing him now, legs curled under her. The rigidity of her spine was back, a forward energy directed solely on Alistair. Her eyebrows were raised, lips parted in a half formed smile.

                “You truly are a strange human,” she said. There was no derision in her voice, no judgement; just wonder.

                Alistair shrugged, made a show of crossing his arms. “Stranger than you realize. Not so eager to travel with me now, are we?”

                Mahariel studied him from head to toe; it made Alistair squirm, made him want to bolt back to the camp, yet her eyes immobilized him. Then her head dropped. A hand swept under the hair that fell to her face. Alistair dropped back to his knees, hands hovered over her shoulders.

                “Mahariel?”

                When she looked up, it was with greatest relief that Alistair found her smiling. Close-lipped. Only a little more than a curl at the corners of her lips. But her brows were smooth. Unburdened.

                “I’m glad you are here, Alistair. Thank you, for listening.”

                A tickle ran up Alistair’s nose; he had to blink it away a few times. How incredebly good it was to hear those words. And he thought he came here to comfort her. Alistair pushed himself to his feet again, paused to reach down a hand to the other surviving Warden in Ferelden. “Whenever you need me. Come on, let’s get you to bed before Barkspawn decides to claim your tent. ”

                “Anvil,” Mahariel said. She took his hand and let herself be hoisted to her feet. “His name is Anvil.”

                “That’s what I said; Barkspawn.”

                Mahariel gave his arm a sharp tug, and Alistair could only grin at her.

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at a Dragon Age fic.


End file.
